Groovy Jim
by Paris d'Archambault XIV
Summary: The Adventures of the Sherlock characters in college. Somewhat absurd, but I really was wondering.
1. Prologue

It's 1985, and the Sherlock gang are living life as a group of college students in London. But they're not the same people we know them to be...

**Groovy Jim**  
James Moriarty: loud, eccentric, Elvis obsessed, Sherlock obsessed and, of course, Irish. He seems stuck in a mid 60s/70s time warp, refusing to give up his bell-bottoms, love beads, tie-dye shirts and Cuban heeled shoes. Still a fan of 'Derek and the Dominoes', he refuses to go anywhere without his hair gel keeping that Elvis-style quiff in place.

**Emo Sherlock**  
Sherlock Holmes: who knows anything about him? He keeps to himself in his room, often stealing Jim's hair gel, muttering dark poetry and solving complex puzzles. Unbeknownst to most, his life's dream is to become a Consulting Detective, but his social studies teachers through the years have firmly stated that he'll get nowhere in life.

**Preppy John**  
John Watson: not the quiet boy you'd think he was. He's always on top of things, throwing wild parties, and spying on Hipster Mary. On the outside he looks like the meek schoolboy everyone believes him to be, but once he's out of sight of the teachers, things start to get wild.

**Posh Mycroft**  
Mycroft Holmes: that guy with the fetish for umbrellas, and boy does he let it show. Always dressed in the latest umbrella related garb, he could ramble for hours about the ferrule, centre ball spring (only on telescopics, that is), tube, crook handle and stretcher of his latest favourite. But of course, he's sensible too. The fact that he's the most sensible of the group keeps him in the handy position of Head Boy.

**Creepy Fangirl Irene**  
Irene Adler: can't get enough of Sherlock. President of Sherlock Fangirls United, she always knows the latest news on her idol. Her favourite pastimes are, of course, stalking her one true love and taking slightly creepy photographs of him, which she then trades with her BFFL (Best Friend For Life), Groovy Jim.

And there's a whole cast of other characters just waiting in the wings...


	2. Chapter 1 - Hairgel

Another great morning in the life of Groovy Jim. He woke up, pulled on his brand new denim bell-bottoms and shirt (tie-dyed last night by yours truly), ate breakfast, read some online comics, listened to some music by Derek and the Dominoes and took another nap. Then he started on his hair.  
Only the hair gel was missing.  
"Not cool," he muttered. "Not cool at all."  
Hair gel was essential to his Elvis inspired look. How else would he get his hair to that perfect quiff height with that little curl right at the top? He wouldn't! Now his hair was floppy and lifeless and limp and it was an absolute disaster.  
"I bet Sherlie's behind this," he mused, skipping down the corridor to his flatmate's bedroom. "Sherlie!" he called through the door. "Sherlie? Did you steal my hair gel again? Cos that's not cool, dude."  
"Leave me alone," came the muffled reply from the other side of the door. It sounded like Emo Sherlock was busy with some of his crappy poetry again. What was it with that guy and dark, evil sounding things?  
Anyway, due to that lack of help he was receiving from his supposed friend, Jim set off to launch a full investigation of what had happened to his hair gel. If only someone in the house was an aspiring detective or something like that. Alas...they were not.  
The front door opened and Preppy John stepped in. He grinned at Jim. "Hey, Jim, wanna come check out Hipster Mary with me again?"  
Jim rolled his eyes. "I've told you already, John. I haven't got any interest in Hipster Mary. That's your thing. I'm here on a much more serious matter. Someone stole my hair gel. NOT groovy. Not groovy at all, man."  
"Well, it wasn't me, but-"  
"Dude, someone touched my gel and you better give me the skinny."  
"Whatever. You know I didn't touch your gel. I was at that rad party til three this morning. Didn't wake up until about ten. You lost your gel way before that, I can guarantee. Besides, you were at that party with me. Listening to some band from the seventies or whatever. And your dancing...what was that?"  
"It was bitch'n," Jim replied, using some of his rad slang from the mid 60s/70s. Plus now he could rule out Preppy John from his suspects. Maybe that weirdo, Posh Mycroft, or whatever, knew what was up with the gel.  
Jim searched for his fourth roommate's bedroom. He had never gone this far into the apartment, never really venturing further than Sherlie's room or his own.  
Mycroft's room was easy to locate, with a large umbrella stand beside a light blue door studded with umbrella shaped pins and adorned with an umbrella shaped doorknob. He considered knocking then barged in to the most ridiculous room he had ever seen.  
It was posh: fancy decorating, obviously, but the ornaments Mycroft had an interest in made no sense whatsoever. There was a novelty lamp shaped like an umbrella resting on a table with small umbrellas studding the edges.  
"Mycroft...?" he called out. "Posh Mycroft? I need your help."  
A disembodied voice appeared. "Did you bring payment?"  
Groovy Jim sighed. He knew this was bound to happen. Fortunately he had been keeping a novelty 70s umbrella in his boots. He pulled this out and handed it to Mycroft, who happened to be standing next to him.  
"Thank you very much, James," he answered, pocketing it. "Unfortunately, I do not have your hair gel, as I was up all night last night finishing the seating plan for my biannual umbrella fest. My brother, you may wish to know, has not left his room for several hours. I am not sure he's left at all in the past few days." Mycroft walked across the room and took a seat in an uncomfortable looking umbrella chair. "He's been working on his reproduction of the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe. Quite fascinating. In fact, I'd say it's much like the inner workings of the umbrella-"  
Jim walked out. Umbrellas were not top on his list of priorities, nor anywhere on that list at all. One thing on the list was his hair gel, however, and the final suspect on his list was his BFFL, Creepy Fangirl Irene Adler.  
After getting lost several times in the corridor he found himself back in the living room, where Irene's bedroom door could easily be found. He knocked.  
"Hey, Jimmy," she grinned, pointing at a poster of Sherlock on her wall as he came in. "What d'you think of my new one?"  
""Smashing wicked," he replied, using two pieces of slang at the same time. She rolled her eyes at him and stood.  
"What d'you need, anyway?"  
"My hair gel is missing. That's jive, man." Jim wondered how no one had noticed his floppy hair in the whole day.  
"I haven't seen it," Irene told him, hugging something tight to her chest. "Wanna check out my new Sherlie memorabilia? I took some photos of him at that party yesterday. Well, he wasn't at the party but I hid a video camera in his room recording him a few days ago and it is amazing!"  
"What's that, then?" Groovy Jim asked, nodding at the thing she was clutching.  
"This? Oh, I found it in Sherlie's room. It's his hair gel or something."  
_Hair gel?_ Jim leaped over and grabbed it from her. It was his! So Sherlie had stolen it from him and then Irene had taken it from him in one of her collecting rages.  
"This is mine, see?" He showed her the label: '_Jim's hair gel'._ "Thanks, Irene, I've been looking everywhere for that. Now I can finally do my hair again. Groovy!"


	3. Chapter 2 - Sherlock's Diary

**_November, 1985_**

That Groovy Jim found his hair gel again. I thought I hid it extraordinarily well this time, but it seems Irene got hold of it and he managed to get it back from her. Ridiculous. Apparently Mycroft helped him out and told him that I hadn't left my room in several days. Little does he know I built my own secret passage into the walls so I could sneak in and out without him noticing.  
I have little doubt that Irene knows of my passages. She has attempted on various occasions to hide cameras around my room. I have, of course, discovered each of these cameras when necessary, though the most recently placed one I have left due to it being rather amusing.  
Mycroft has been comparing my poetry to umbrellas recently. I really do not understand that man, although he may be my brother.  
I have been basing my poetry off the work Edgar Allan Poe. There is a piece by him entitled "Alone" that I rather enjoy. It reminds me of my own feelings of solitude. Here is a poem of my own composition sharing a title:

_A light flickers in the distance;_  
_Like moths, we're drawn to it._  
_A call from afar._  
_We sit and cry._  
_  
Another call._  
_I sigh:_  
_You have to go._  
_I know it, and yet_  
_I don't want it._  
_  
You stand, and I hold you_  
_Tight._  
_I beg you to stay._  
_  
You can't leave._  
_Not now._  
_Not yet._  
_  
But you must._  
_You turn away from me,_  
_Your face hidden by the shadows._  
_  
And now..._  
_  
I sit alone in the dark._  
_Only the light is burnt out_  
_Though it feel as if my soul has done so:_  
_A final poem in this torture._

_I need a friend._  
_I need to ease this hurt._  
_I need an end to it all._

I must say, it is one of my best works, though perhaps **he** could have done better. **He** does everything better than Mycroft and I. At times I do feel as if **he** was the favourite, though we were never told which was preferred. Never mind.  
Perhaps tomorrow shall prove more interesting.


	4. Mycroft Umbrella Interlude

Umbrella  
_umbrella  
beautiful, perfect  
rain blocking, sun shading, wind stopping  
umbrella, umbrella, umbrella  
gale preventing, storm impeding, thunder ending  
angular, sexy  
umbrella_

Umbrella Septet

_Umbrella  
Thou art so sexy  
As beautiful as can be  
So angular as she blocks the rain  
I love her delicate shape  
Curvacious figure  
Umbrella_

Umbrella

_Last night I dreamed of umbrellas,  
there were umbrellas everywhere,  
they were beautiful,  
they were sexy,  
they were curvacious,  
they were angular,  
they were perfect,  
as they raced about my bed._

_They were on the bed,  
they were on the floor,  
they were blocking the rain,  
they were impeding the gale,  
there were umbrellas, umbrellas, umbrellas,  
for as far as I could see...  
when I woke today, I noticed  
there were umbrellas all over me._

Perhaps I should take some lessons in poetry from my younger brother.


	5. Chapter 3 - Relatives Day - Part 1

"Rise and shine!" Preppy John pulled Sherlock's bedcovers off. "Dude. Pink underwear?"  
"Leave me alone..." Sherlock muttered. "My underwear is not pink..." He rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head again.  
"Yes it is! It's very, very pink. Bright pink. With your face drawn on it."  
"WHAT!?" Emo Sherlock jumped up. "Oh...that's Irene's. I...I don't know how that got here...I...I'm going to go write some poetry..." He sighed and fell back down onto the bed.

_"Ode to my pants. _  
_Oh, pants, you were my dream. _  
_So black and plain and sweet. _  
_Oh, my darling pants... _  
_I sit alone now... _  
_Pantless." _

John shuddered. "That's your worst yet. But keep trying! Anyway. Sherrinford's coming over! Now, I'm gonna go get this party started!" He walked away.  
Emo Sherlock was an odd case, John had to admit. He was much too...dull. But there were stories, just stories, mind you, of a time long ago when he had been fun and exciting and preppy. Much like John himself in a way.  
He knocked on another door. "Irene? Irene, you've gotta get up! Sherlock and Mycroft's bro and The Moriarty Brothers are coming over. Let me know when you're ready." He may be the party king around there, but nothing stopped him from being a gentleman. Especially not when there was a lady around.  
Speaking of ladies, there was Hipster Mary. He waved at her and she gasped, dropped her books and ran off. John sighed. Perhaps one day she would stop running. One day.  
Right then. Next order of business...the one he was dreading most.  
"Jim?" Gingerly he raised a hand and pushed on the door of Groovy Jim's bedroom, activating the electric wind chimes Jim had insisted on. The room he now stepped into was stuck in a mid-60s to 70s time warp, as was its owner.  
"Hey, man. How's that bunny Mary doing?"  
John shivered again in his sophisticated-yet-preppy loafers. "She's...fine. Listen, I called your brothers over for the party...you alright with that?"  
"Yeah, it's groovy, man, you know?" Jim sighed, back in his own imaginary world that no one else could understand. "I gotta say, I love Party Rock Jim and Saturday Night Jim. They throw the_ best _parties in the cosmoverse."  
"Right. Well. Great. Thanks, Jim," Preppy John told him, leaving the room as fast as was physically possible. And by his standards, that was pretty fast.  
"Looks like you need some help." A disembodied voice again. Of course, this voice belonged to Mycroft. Posh Mycroft. "Your predicament here reminds me of a tale about umbrellas..."  
Rolling his eyes, John nodded. He loved stories.  
"Very well. Once there was a young umbrella. He was a great umbrella: curvaceous, angular, slim, sleek, sexy...you know where I'm going with this. He thought he was the best cake maker in the whole wide world. But one day, his friend told him that some umbrellas that were coming over for tea were better party throwers...I mean, _cake makers_, than he was. And the umbrella just had to live with it."  
"What?"  
Mycroft gave a long sigh. "My dear boy. Groovy Jim's brother's are way better party throwers than you."  
John stood up indignantly. "No," he said, storming away. "No...it can't be."


	6. Chapter 3 - Relatives Day - Part 2

7 o'clock came, and with it grew John's fears about this party. Would Saturday Night Jim and Party Rock Jim really find his party a lame attempt compared to their own? Perhaps he needed to invite more girls...  
Preppy John rushed to the phone box, eager to call up some lady friends but it was in use by his medical professor, Dr. W. Dammit.  
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the apartment door opening and Groovy Jim welcoming his two brothers into the apartment. They were identical! Except one of them was dressed exactly like John Travolta (in Saturday Night Fever, of course) and the other looked liked he'd jumped out of some punk band. John wondered how their mother lived with them.  
He headed back into the apartment to help greet the other guests and fix the broken light bulb that had really been Sherlock's responsibility. The door opened behind him again and in walked Hipster Mary. She saw him, shrieked and ran away again.  
"Dude, who's that chick?" Saturday Night Jim asked him. He had the same power to pop up silently and randomly that Mycroft had. Preppy John wondered about this.  
"She's mine!" he shouted, leaping onto Jim and refusing to let go. "Don't you even touch her, d'you hear me? Don't even think about her!"  
"Oh, so that's why you creep her out so much.." Jim shook his head and pushed John off. "Whatever, dude. I just wanna dance." He headed out onto the dance floor and began a dance reminiscent of this one.* Immediately his brothers joined him, causing a massive flurry of Jim Moriartys on the dance floor.  
The doorbell rang once again and Posh Mycroft jumped up. "That must be my date!" he exclaimed joyfully.  
"Mycroft has a date?" Creepy Fangirl Irene asked John, surprised. "Anyway, have you seen Sherlie? I wanted to show him my moves on the dance floor."  
John pointed towards Sherlock's bedroom. "Where do you think he is?"  
"Good point. Thanks, Johnny boy."  
Meanwhile, Mycroft was opening the door to a delivery man holding a long tube. "Ah, my darling has arrived..." he muttered, opening the tube and pulling out an umbrella.  
"Your date is an umbrella?" asked Emo Sherlock, who had left his room in order to escape the attack of Irene.  
"Not just an umbrella! A limited edition, super rare umbrella!"  
"Sure..." Sherlock walked away, clearly unimpressed by this.  
"It's better than what you'll ever do!" Posh Mycroft shouted after him.

"Mycroft is so sad,  
His date is an umbrella.  
As Jim might say 'not rad',  
He's got to find himself a fella."

"I am not gay!" called out Mycroft.  
"Signs point otherwise!" Sherlock called back.

Suddenly the doors to the apartment opened and a huge crowd of people burst in. John attempted to squeeze through them to safety, wondering who had invited them all.  
"John!"  
He turned, hoping for Hipster Mary, but instead came face to face with Sherlock.  
"What?" he asked, not adding on his signature 'dude'.  
"Why did you invite Anderson? I feel stupider and more pointless already."  
"Sorry, Sherlock. I don't know who invited all these people..." Preppy John sighed. He was still outpartied by the Moriarty brothers.  
Emo Sherlock grumbled and disappeared. John walked away, wondering if there was anything he could do.  
"John? Preppy John? You haven't seen Sherlock, have you?" asked Fashionista Molly. "I have, like, this new lipstick that makes my mouth look ninety percent bigger and I wanted to show him cos I know he'll love it and-"  
"In his room..." John muttered, sitting down with a glass of beer. She smiled brightly and ran to the room. Her mouth did look rather strange.  
A few moments later someone sat down beside him. "John, my boy, you are going to have to do something if you want this party to be a success. Something big. Something amazing. Something...umbrella related!"  
And John knew what he should do. He stood, grabbed a glass and smashed it on the ground, attracted everyone's attention.  
"Shouldn't we clean that up," someone muttered in the crowd of guests.  
"Not our division," came the muffled reply.  
"I have an announcement to make," Preppy John shouted out.  
And just like that, the lights went out.

* watch?v=gvGO9N69ZkE


	7. Chapter 3 - Relatives Day - Part 3

The lights flickered back on.  
"Anderson's dead!" someone exclaimed. Sally fainted.  
"Nah, he's just faking for attention," Sherlock muttered, kicking the limp body. "See? He's still breathing. Though this does give me some inspiration for a poem..." He nodded and left the room, muttering quietly to himself.  
The rest of the crowd stared aimlessly at Anderson until there was another scream. "My umbrellas...they're gone!"  
"And my Sherlie memorabilia!" Creepy Fangirl Irene added.  
"And our disco ball. Like, not cool, man," all three Jims said at the same time.  
Preppy John sighed. Of course, since it was _his_ party, they'd all start blaming him. Great. Unless he could figure out what had happened. He needed some help. Expert help. And so, out of instinct, he ran for the phone box.  
Dr. W was still using it. How many hours did that man even spend in there? And John really needed to call the only man he knew could solve this problem.  
He waited outside for a few hours, but his professor just wouldn't budge. The young man, who Preppy John swore had an unhealthy obsession with plastic surgery, wasn't even doing anything productive. Just listening into the phone and muttering something every few minutes.  
This was pointless. John sighed and turned away from the box, walking away from his apartment. He couldn't go back there right now. He needed to get away from all the commotion. And then, out of nowhere, he heard a voice:  
"John? It's me. I can help you."  
He looked around for the person who had spoken, but saw no one. Not that it mattered. He knew who he was talking to.  
"_Sherrinford?_ Is that you?"  
"Yeah, yeah, it's me. Big deal. They're not still freaking out in there, are they? I mean, I'm glad I escaped, but seriously, dude, all I did was accidentally trip over some fuse box on my way out and then I may have hit some guy in the face when I was trying to find the door." There was the sound of someone washing their hands and then the bathroom door opened. "Dude, you really gotta stop those Moriarty brothers from spraying glow paint everywhere."  
Well, at least John knew what had happened to the lights and Anderson. Sherrinford always knew how to make an entrance.  
"So, yeah, you need my help. It ain't with a lady, I know, so you wanna know what happened at the party, I'm guessing."  
Preppy John stared at him. He would never understand how Sherrinford was so smart. And so good at...well..._everything_. He was _so_ amazing, no one had ever known what to call him expect for just Sherrinford.  
"So what happened?"  
"Come on, dude, it's so obvious. Anderson couldn't have done it, he was out cold. The Moriarty bros were too busy fighting over who was the best dancer, Sherlock wasn't even there, Irene was, like, obsessing over him with Molly, you were giving, I mean, trying to give a speech and Mycroft was being all creepy with his umbrella. And of course, I was out here trying to wash glow paint off myself. So who did it? I leave that up to you to figure out, my dear Watson. Oh yeah, that does sound good. How am I this awesome?" Sherrinford muttered, limping off again and leaving John to work it all out himself.  
Great. Sherrinford was the smartest person John had ever met, but he was so annoyingly cryptic at times!  
"If it wasn't me, or Sherlock, or any of the Jims, or Molly, or Mycroft, or Anderson, or Irene, and it definitely wasn't Mary, then who did it?" Preppy John considered this as he headed back to the apartment. Inside, the party had just started again.  
"Hey, John, this is the most radical party like, ever!" Party Rock Jim called out to him. His brothers nodded their agreement.  
He grinned. Awesome. Everyone seemed to be loving his party, and had mostly forgotten their previous problems. But he was stuck with the massive problem of having to figure out what had happened, or Sherrinford would never stop bugging him.  
As any good detective knows, you should always start by investigating the crime scene, so that's exactly what John did. He took a look where Mycroft had last seen his umbrella. There was something suspicious here. Of course! There was a single blonde hair lying on the sofa. He quickly picked it up and placed it in his pocket. Next order of business: Anderson.  
"Hey, Anderson?"  
The man looked up. He was holding an ice pack to his head that Sally had lent him. "Yeah?"  
"Can I see your forehead?"  
There was a large red gash just above his eyes, about 7cm long and half an inch wide. John wondered about this for a moment. "Thanks, dude."  
Now what should he do? He wasn't a proper detective, so of course he had no experience in this. Perhaps a short rest would set his mind right.  
John was on his way to his bedroom when he was interrupted by Emo Sherlock. "John...John...John...John...John..."  
"Oh my God, what is it?" he asked, annoyed.  
Sherlock held up a pair of shoes. "Have you seen mine? These are about two sizes too big."  
"No, I haven't," John answered, storming past him. He was not in the mood for this kind of nonsense. Now then, what could any of this possibly mean?  
The blonde hair, the gash...it could only add up to one thing! _Hipster Mary!_ She was blonde, and that long ring she wore over three fingers, that had to be what had made the mark on Anderson's forehead. He'd have to tell Sherrinford as soon as he could.  
Now, where was he? Oh, of course. The usual way to find Sherrinford was not to look for him, because he always appeared when he wasn't expected.  
Perhaps he had enough time for a nap...  
"John, John, wake up!"  
His eyes flickered open. "Yeah?"  
"You solved my little puzzle yet, dude?"  
Preppy John was confused for a moment or two, then suddenly remembered. "Yeah! It was Mary, wasn't it? She did it!"  
Sherrinford rolled his eyes and sat down. "Dude, dude, dude. Poor little dude. It wasn't Mary. How many times do I have to tell you this?"  
"Tell me what?"  
"This entire time, you did the one thing I've told you never to do. Never trust your witness. I told you I was trying to wash glow paint off, but how could I have been doing that? Did the Moriarty brothers even have glow paint with them? They were too busy dancing. And even if they had had glow paint, if I'd been covered in it, you'd have seen me leave!"  
Suddenly everything fell into place for John. How could he have accused his love like that? It all made sense now. Sherrinford had been limping because he'd accidentally put on Sherlock's shoes instead of his own when he attempted to leave, and the umbrella he'd grabbed from Mycroft had caused the huge cut in Anderson's head. And of course, Sherrinford was blonde: it was his hair he'd found!  
"But...but the disco ball?"  
Sherrinford looked blank. "What disco ball?"  
"The Moriarty brothers'."  
"Oh. That wasn't me."  
"No, that was me. They were giving me headaches. More than Anderson's face. How do you expect me to write poetry with them in the background? It's like a nightmare..." Emo Sherlock muttered, walking in. "I thought I'd find you here, Sherrinford. A fiasco such as this could only have been yours."  
"Yep, that was me. Well, see you later, little dudes." Sherrinford grinned and jumped out the window onto the fire escape. "Oh, and congrats on the radical party, bro."  
John looked out his bedroom door. "Woah. That is a cool party."  
It was pretty awesome. Saturday Night Jim, Party Rock Jim and Groovy Jim were all on the dance floor together, Fashionista Molly and Creepy Fangirl Irene were discussing the best way to seduce Sherlock, and Posh Mycroft was stroking the umbrellas in the stand. He walked over to Preppy John now.  
"Looks like you out-partied the party kings."  
And so he had.


End file.
